A Sense of Closure

Today was a good day, I think. It was one of those days we all have once or twice when we receive a check in the mail that we didn’t know we had coming. Well that’s what happened to me so that means it must’ve been a good day, right? More or less? Theoretically?

At first I was worried when I received a letter from the law firm of Hoodwink and Steele. Why did that name sound familiar? And then I realized oh yeah, I’ve seen a lot of their commercials during the 3 a.m horror movies. They’re personal injury lawyers: ”Injured in an Accident? Call 666-6666!”

But it appears that these shrewd men figured out a way to collect damages for cripples not just for our physical pain and suffering but for our social and political injuries as well. Because the letter informed me of the settlement of a class action lawsuit against the federal government that was initiated by the firm on behalf of “Americans with myriad physical, emotional and cognitive challenges.” The lawsuit demanded monetary reparations be paid to cripples for the “historic pattern and practice of egregious mistreatment” generations of us have endured.

At first I thought hmm, reparations? I mean, I know cripples have been fucked over huge for a long time, but reparations? Really? But then the letter reminded me how millions of us have been “institutionalized, sterilized and lobotomized.” We’ve worked jobs that pay about a buck an hour. And we’ve been herded up and banished away to shitty little segregated schools, like the one I attended, which I affectionately refer to as the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT}.

So soon I felt more than just worthy of reparations. I felt owed! Oh yeah baby! My people have been skeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-rewed! So PAY US, dammit! Pay us NOW!

The letter said that after years of negotiations, the government agreed to pay $900 million in cripple reparations! And after Hoodwink and Steele took $800 million off the top to cover their fees and expenses, the remaining $100 million was to be distributed equally among 50 million living crippled Americans, of which I am one. “Therefore,” the letter said, “enclosed is your reparations check of $2. We hope this brings you a sense of closure.”

I don’t know if closure is the right word. But at least I know what my social and political pain and suffering is worth.



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That Brisk Day When Cripple Oppression in America Officially Came to an End

Apparently there once was a time, long long ago, when cripples were treated rather poorly in this country. I know it’s hard to believe but it really is true. I double checked the facts just to be sure.

It seems that back in those dark days cripples were so disregarded and devalued that many of them were locked up in institutions. Cripples had a real hard time getting jobs back then. And they couldn’t get into a lot of buildings because the entrances had steps and stuff like that.

But that all ended on March 4, 1933 at noon, to be precise. That was the day we inaugurated a crippled president. And that’s how we know in America when a previously oppressed sector of the citizenry is officially no longer oppressed. When a single member of that sector rises to the pinnacle, it proves that all the old barriers to advancement no longer exist.

We learned this on January 20, 2009, when, for the first time, we inaugurated somebody besides a white man. That was the day racism ended. The racists, realizing they were licked, packed up and went home. The KKK threw in the towel. And so now we know that with all the obstacles eliminated, those from that sector who can’t similarly transcend their circumstances are probably just too damn lazy.

But it’s a funny thing though. The last time I checked, I do believe there were still some institutionalized cripples. And, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, there’s still a cripple or two without a job. And I could swear that right down the street from me is a pizza place that I’ve never gone into because the entrance has three steps.

How could this be the case when the era of cripple oppression in America abruptly ended on a brisk afternoon more than 80 years ago? There’s only one possible explanation. The reason the entrance of that pizza place right down the street has three steps is because I’m just too damn lazy.



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The Evolution of Playtime

I never realized it before but when I was a wee criplet I must’ve been full of self-loathing because I was crippled. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be an axe murderer.

The criplets of today are way ahead. There are plenty of crippled dolls around to help them feel better about themselves. They came out with a crippled Barbie friend a long time ago. And now there’s a crippled Lego kid. All the experts on child development agree that this is good. There comes a time in the life of every crippled child, or every child who’s different for that matter, when they long to see people like themselves represented positively in pop culture.

I didn’t have any crippled dolls when I was a criplet. I suppose if wanted to have one, I would have had to make one myself by hacking an arm or leg off one of my G.I. Joes or something. (I don't think being without genitals counts as crippled in the case.) But I never felt the urge to have a crippled doll. Never once crossed my mind. If one of my G.I. Joes came up missing a limb, I either would have tossed it in the trash or relegated it to playing the role of the wounded guy.

Criplets today can at least occasionally see a crippled kid who looks like them in a movie or on television. For a long time I never saw any crippled kids like me in movies or on television and I never particularity wanted to. In fact, the first time I saw a crippled kid on television, I was horrified. It was one of those telethons and they trotted out a crippled kid and everybody gushed over him and patted him on the head until I wanted to puke. I was terrified that the next time I went out in public everybody would treat me that way. So I prayed that no crippled kid would ever be allowed on television ever again.

And when I was a kid, none of the storybooks told stories about crippled kids. If an adult asked me if I wanted to read a storybook about a crippled kid I would have said hell no. I would have been afraid that it would be a story about a crippled kid who appears on a telethon and everybody gushes over him and pats him on the head until I want to puke.

It just goes to show how much I secretly must’ve hated being crippled. The less I was reminded of it the better. When ambushed with the reality, I tried to drown it out with the white noise of denial and avoidance. That's what playtime was for.

The only reason I didn’t become an axe murderer was because I’m crippled. I can’t lift an axe.



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Marriage Equality for Broke Ass Cripples

Now that same sex marriage is legal in every state, gay broke ass cripples who want to get married will be screwed over by Social Security the same as opposite sex broke ass cripples who want to get married. That’s marriage equality.

The broke assiest of the broke ass cripples are those who receive Social Security SSI monthly payments. The richest of them gets the SSI maximum, which is $733 for an individual or $1,100 for a married couple when both receive SSI.

Now I suck at math but when I add $733 and $733 I get $1466. So if two broke ass cripples get married, they each get docked $183.

And if you think you can get around that by living together in sin and not getting married, ha ha ha on you. The Social Security people can investigate you and if they find that you and your "roommate" do stuff married people do, like put both of your names on your mortgage or introduce the other as your spouse, they can dock you anyway.

I’m not bringing you the breaking news here. This marriage penalty has been around forever. Various movements of cripples and cripophiles have tried to strike it down.

But it endures. I don’t know why. I wonder if it’s because some people see broke ass cripple marriage as a threat to the sanctity of marriage. Maybe they believe it violates the traditional definition of marriage, which is the union of one man and one woman who aren’t both broke ass cripples. It’s the old slippery slope argument. “If we let two broke ass cripples get married, then why not let a man marry a giraffe?”

Or maybe two broke ass cripples getting married goes against the Bible somehow. So I checked out Leviticus. There’s all kind of stuff in there about who it’s immoral to have sex with, like any woman who is another man’s slave, but nothing specifically or vaguely addressing broke ass cripples. In Biblical times, I guess cripples marrying was too ridiculous of an idea to even ponder.

So the force standing in the way of two broke ass cripples openly and freely getting married must be a force much more powerful than morality. It must be money. I’m sure the Congressional Budget Office or some such sober entity has determined that the global economy will collapse and anarchy will ensue if broke ass cripples are allowed to keep $183 a month.

Yep, two broke ass cripples getting married is a threat to our very civilization.



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The Plight of the Promless Cripple

Some institutions of oppression are so inherently heinous, so purposefully designed to prop up the ruling class that they cannot be reformed. They must be abolished.

Two such institutions are slavery and proms. When it comes to proms I am an ardent abolitionist.

I am one of the many promless cripples. My high school was a state–operated boarding school for cripples, which I affectionately refer to as the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT). We didn’t have proms at SHIT, which is probably just as well. They probably would have been exceedingly lame affairs where we all put on a clean shirt, reported to the gym and hung around with the same cripples we hung around with every other day.

And I imagine most mainstreamed cripples who weren’t educated in a segregated compound like me are nonetheless still promless. Even if they went to schools that had proms they probably didn’t go because proms aren’t exactly freak-friendly zones. And cripples aren’t the only promless humans. I know there must also be millions of promless verts (which is short for verticals, which is cripple slang for people who can walk). They are promless by choice. They could’ve gone to prom but they chose not to because proms, they’ll say, are nothing more than a bourgeois rite of passage designed to reaffirm the supremacy of the jocks and cheerleaders and other elites. In other words, they couldn’t get a date.

But that’s okay. Being a promless cripple has served me well. It has sharpened my sense of justice by giving me a feeling of solidarity with the rejects of the world, those who have been callously left behind. It has taught me the importance of embracing one’s inner freak by renouncing false measuring sticks of self-worth. Fuck those meathead jocks and their meatheadocracy!

That’s why I’m worried that God has apparently told ex-quarterback Tim Tebow to dedicate himself to addressing the plight of promless cripples. Coming up soon is the second annual Night to Shine sponsored by Tebow’s foundation. This is a night where churches all over the world organize special “proms” for cripples only. And every cripple who shows up gets crowned king or queen.

But I’m worried that God is setting up poor Tebow for failure again, just like he did when he told him to be a pro quarterback. First, this is a classic case of trying to redeem the unredeemable. There’s no such thing as an egalitarian prom. It defeats the purpose. It’s an oxymoron. If a prom can’t be snobby and cliquish, what’s the point? Second, how can everybody be king or queen? Again, it defeats the purpose. A king is the guy who’s in charge of everything. A queen is the wife or daughter of the guy who’s in charge of everything. If everybody’s in charge of everything, that’s chaos!

Third, if Tebow succeeds in bringing about the extinction of promless cripples, he’ll be doing more harm than good. He’ll be delaying each of these cripples from experiencing that wonderful blast of liberating epiphany that comes when they say to themselves fuck those meathead jocks and their meatheadocracy! This is a formative moment in every cripple’s life.

Tebow would better serve cripples and the rest of humanity if he took a more litigious approach. His foundation should organize a team of lawyers to sue every prom and force them not only to admit every cripple but to crown a cripple the prom king and queen.

If that happened we wouldn’t have to worry about abolishing proms. They’d soon abolish themselves.



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Flying Monkeys

Being crippled but not always looking like you’re crippled must really suck. It must be like having monkeys flying out of your butt.

Among those who are crippled but don’t always look like they’re crippled are folks with stuff like fibromyalgia and the kind of chemical sensitivity where a whiff of perfume can knock you on your ass. One day you’re running a marathon and the next day you’re flat in bed. It must suck constantly having to prove you’re crippled when you know damn well you are. It must especially suck when it’s time to cash in on the few good things that come with being crippled, like Social Security and legal pot. But hey, the uncrippled majority demands hard evidence! They’ve reached the cripple saturation point. There are so many different kinds of cripples and new breeds are popping up all the time. To keep track of them all requires a scorecard a mile long.

So when you really are crippled but nobody believes you are that must be like having monkeys flying out of your butt. Because imagine an average, uncrippled Jane/Joe going through life merrily minding their own business when all of a sudden a monkey flies out of his/her butt. If it happened to me, my first reaction would be, “What was that! I could swear a monkey just flew out of my butt!” But if it didn’t happen again soon, I’d happily dismiss it as some sort of illusion. Maybe it was a trick of light or just the wind. But then it happens again and again until there’s no denying it. "Oh my God, I really do have monkeys flying out of my butt!" I’d yearn for the comforting camaraderie of people with my same malady! But I know nobody will believe me if I say, “I have monkeys flying out of my butt!” A person could get committed for something like that! So I’d convince myself that I must be the only one in the world with monkeys flying out of my butt and I'd suffer in sad, solitary silence, longing for the kind of breakthrough that will only come when a monkey flies out of the butt of a beloved celebrity. Someone like Harrison Ford maybe? I mean, I don’t wish monkeys flying out of your butt on anyone. But if it has to happen to someone, let it be Harrison Ford. Everybody believes and trusts what Harrison Ford says. Harrison Ford is an American institution! I’d fantasize about him holding a press conference to say, “I’m here to announce that I have monkeys flying out of my butt.” And I shout hallelujah! Sweet vindication! Now our voices will finally be heard! And people all over the world step forward to proclaim that they too have monkeys flying out of their butts! And Harrison Ford is praised for his courage! And the nation rallies around him! And Congress appropriates billions in spending for research into the cause and prevention of monkeys flying out of people’s butts! And Harrison Ford is invited to attend the State of the Union address! And the president introduces him and he rises to a standing ovation!

And a monkey flies out of his butt!



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Controversy at the GIMP Media Image Awards

I had a very interesting night at the first annual Media Image Awards banquet sponsored by the Good Images in Media Project (GIMP). The purpose of the ceremony is to promote positive images of cripples in American pop culture by honoring the work of crippled actors who appeared in movies and on television in the previous year.

The atmosphere was quite festive in the Wolverine Room at the La Quinta Inn, where the GIMP gala was held. The cold cuts buffet was sumptuous. But apparently not a whole lot of crippled actors appeared in movies or on television last year because there were only two award categories: best actor in a lead role and best actress in a lead role. I was disappointed that there weren’t more categories but that’s okay. You have to start somewhere.

And the winner for best lead actor was the old guy who rides happily around in a three-wheeled scooter in that commercial for three-wheeled scooters. In fact, the old guy was the only nominee. But that’s okay. You have to start somewhere. But as the old guy gave his acceptance speech he was interrupted by a protester. The protester was a younger guy in a wheelchair who rolled up to the stage and read aloud from what sounded like some sort of manifesto. He was resoundingly booed and hotel security wrestled him away so I couldn’t make out what he was saying very well. But he must have been one of those crippled actors who has a hard time getting roles because it sounded like he was pissed off that an old guy with just a bum knee got cast instead of a younger genuine paraplegic like him. The disgruntled crippled actor had a point but hey, we’ve gotta face facts. Anyone trying to sell three-wheeled scooters on commercial television isn’t going to cast anybody under age 70 in the role of guy riding happily around in a three-wheeled scooter. Seeing a young person in a three-wheeled scooter scares the average viewers. It shoves their vulnerability in their faces. It reminds them that anything can happen to any sturdy young person at any moment that might suddenly turn them into a cripple in need of a three-wheeled scooter. But seeing an old person in a three-wheeled scooter isn’t as much of a shock to the system. There’s a reassuring detachment in that dynamic because nothing can happen to a sturdy young person that might suddenly make them 70 years old.

The award for best lead actress went to the blind woman in the commercial for a drug to treat Non-24, which is a trendy new disorder that supposedly keeps blind people awake at night. She also was the only nominee in the category. And as she delivered her speech some blind people who were sitting at a round table in the corner stood and heckled her. They called her a fraud. They said she was a sighted person pretending to be blind. The blind hecklers were also booed as they were wrestled away by hotel security.

But it turns out the angry blind mob was right. Because a few days later GIMP issued a statement confirming that the award-winning actress did indeed have 20/20 vision. However, the statement went on to say, the producers of the commercial, to their credit, tried their best to cast a blind person. They auditioned dozens of blind people for the role but couldn’t find one they felt convincingly portrayed a blind person.

I guess that’s okay. You have to start somewhere.